Allegiance (8 page)

Durant smiled. With Shabalala along, it could be a fun trip.

‘Let’s see what Mr Arshad Tanveer has to offer us.’

Shabalala drove around the block twice, the second time slowly, and parked his car in a position where he had an unobstructed view of the front of the restaurant. He allowed himself a smile. He was a convoy, a backup to make sure no one gate-crashed the meeting. He felt strangely privileged backing Durant up. He respected the man. It was nearly a year ago that Durant found himself in that dark and wet avenue, without anyone watching his back, nearly losing his life for the job. He couldn’t imagine what he’d have done had he been there. Intelligence officers aren’t armed. Hell, the shooting module on the orientation course hadn’t lasted longer than a week. Now this meeting. If a shooting started, what would he do? Fear prickled at his collar. In his mind, he quickly formulated a plan: he wouldn’t have time to phone Durant and warn him if he saw trouble coming. He would keep the car idling and use it as a shield and let Durant dive into the passenger side. No. That only worked in the movies. Why was he thinking like this? It was a simple meeting with a walk-in. He was being paranoid. He had to be alert, stay focused and do his job. He phoned Durant who was about fifty metres to the right of the restaurant, standing outside a furniture shop.

‘Kevin. I see the subject. Just sat down at one of the outside tables. Midthirties, clean shaven and very short black hair. He’s by himself, everything is quiet.’

‘Sure? No bad guys with guns around?’ Durant said dryly.

‘Kevin, don’t say that. I’m nervous as it is.’

‘I know. Just pulling your leg. Okay, I’m approaching him now.’

‘David Shaw,’ Durant said, shaking hands with Tanveer as he stood. The handshake was firm and confident and immediately Durant felt his intelligence radar bleep. This could be a good one. This was far different from his last encounter with an unknown walk-in. Perhaps it was because he had backup this time. And it wasn’t dark.

‘Pleasure to meet you. Arshad Tanveer. Thank you for coming.’ The men sat down together.

‘I’m eager to hear what you have to say, Mr Tanveer.’ Durant flipped open a notebook, a rather superfluous gesture as the digital recorder in his pocket would capture the conversation anyway.

Tanveer leaned forward and almost whispered. ‘Do I have protection?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What I say to you – am I protected? I need reassurance that I won’t be arrested by you.’

Durant laughed. ‘I’m not a cop. All I’m interested in is information.’

Tanveer leaned back and rested his hands on the table, palms up. ‘If I help you, will you help me?’

Durant put the notebook on the table and folded his arms. ‘I’m not here to make deals with you; I’m just here to listen. So start talking. You came to us with an offer of information.’

Tanveer shrugged and looked down at the table. ‘I appreciate your frankness, sir. I think I can work with you.’

‘We’re still far away from working together, Mr Tanveer.’ Durant looked at his watch. ‘You’ll need to start at the beginning.’

Durant noticed Tanveer was starting to relax. Across the road, parked outside a take-away, Shabalala’s car. It was going to be a long and uneventful day, but at least he didn’t have to sit in a hot car. As Tanveer leaned forward, a waitress arrived at the table and he remained silent. Durant ordered two Cokes and flipped open his notebook.

When the waitress walked away, Tanveer started talking. ‘Two years ago I came to this country from Pakistan.’

‘Hold on. I’ll need the exact date and how you came in, please.’

‘I had to make many sacrifices to leave Pakistan, the country of my birth. The dreams and hopes of my family rest on me now and I have to make a success, you understand?’ Durant noticed a single drop of perspiration on Tanveer’s forehead, but there was no other indication of anxiety.

‘You came in illegally. Right?’

‘Yes. I don’t remember the exact date. I came in through Swaziland and went to Johannesburg first, then to Durban.’ Durant was surprised at the words. It was a confession of a crime committed, yet he stated it without hesitation.

Durant wrote in his notebook as the Cokes arrived, ‘shows promise’. ‘Go on,’ he said.

‘My parents sent me some money to start a business and now I have a small shop in town.’ His voice hinted at pride.

‘What business is it?’

‘I repair cellphones and also sell accessories.’ He slipped a business card across the table to Durant. ‘I don’t make a lot of money, Mr Shaw.’

Durant knitted his brows. ‘Because there’s hundreds of other Pakistanis doing the same thing.’

‘Yes, exactly. Every Pakistani wants to be successful. We’re a hardworking people. We don’t cause trouble.’

‘Fine, so your business?’ Durant was losing hope there was anything in this meeting. The hot car started to seem like a better choice.

Tanveer rubbed his chin with his thumb and lowered his voice. ‘There are some people from Pakistan who are destroying my business and the businesses of other Pakistanis who want to work here.’

Durant raised his eyebrows. ‘The Pakistani mafia?’

Tanveer looked over his shoulder, but Durant was sure it was for effect. He hoped it was, because he really didn’t want to get shot by the Pakistani mafia that afternoon. ‘When a Pakistani comes to South Africa he works through a system. It starts in Karachi, goes through Africa into Swaziland and into this country.’ He outlined the route on the table cloth with his finger. ‘When you land here, the Pakistani community already knows about you and they keep track of you. When you start making money here, they come to you and force you to make contributions.’

‘Protection money?’

‘Yes. Every week they come to me and demand money.’ His voice was just above a whisper.

‘What do you do?’

‘If I don’t pay, they threaten me and my family.’ He looked down and then put a hand to his neck. ‘I have a wife here and a small child.’

Durant scribbled some notes in his book. He was trying to look interested and hoped it wasn’t obvious that he wasn’t. This wasn’t a case for the Intelligence Agency. This seemed petty. Almost personal. ‘What do they threaten you with?’

‘They say they’ll cause me harm. And they will. I know of some Pakistanis who have been beaten so badly they’ve returned to Pakistan crippled.’ He slid a hand across his throat and his face reflected genuine fear.

‘Do you know who these guys are?’

‘Yes, they’re Pakistanis.’

‘I mean, is it the same people who come every week and try to extort money, or different people? Have you got any names?’

‘They’re very organised. And operate secretly. The people who come are just the, how do you say, the—’

‘The runners?’

‘Yes.’

‘They just collect for the big guys?’

‘Exactly.’ Tanveer looked over his shoulder again and Durant was starting to get worried. This guy feared for his life. ‘This thing is big, Mr Shaw. It’s a whole big syndicate, and there’s a lot of money involved.’

Durant wanted him to get to the point, and fast. ‘So what do you want out of it, Mr Tanveer?’

‘I want you to dismantle this evil thing. It’s killing ordinary Pakistanis who just want to make an honest living.’

‘And you, Mr Tanveer, what’s your current status here?’

‘I am very proud to say I am married to a South African woman now and have a child. I started off on the wrong foot but I have mended my ways. I am a respectable person, Mr Shaw.’ He certainly looked respectable, but so did most of the evil people he had ever met.

‘What’s your wife’s name and your son’s name?’

‘It’s Mariam, sir, and my son’s name is Siraj.’

‘Kevin, you’re not the same any more.’ Stephanie’s voice had that characteristic tremble to it that Durant knew could be the prelude to trouble. He knew he wasn’t the same any more – he didn’t even look the same any more. The morning glance in the mirror wasn’t as pleasant as it was before the shooting. Durant was blessed with the gene that pegged your age at a certain year and you hovered around there, with only minor changes in your physical appearance that weren’t necessarily awful. So his ash-blond hair had stayed ash-blond into his forties and he had kept the look of a rugged, but well-maintained man who was fit and could easily compete with men in their thirties. The stress of the shooting had somehow altered the age-pegging gene. The fine lines around his eyes had deepened and the mirror showed signs of grey hair that made him feel more his age than he looked. Yet his hair remained impossible to control, reminding him that there was still a wild man inside that wanted to burst out.

‘I’m more careful now, that’s all.’ Durant was glad to be home, it had been a stressful day. Now he wasn’t so sure home would be less stressful.

‘No, I mean you used to be so motivated and dedicated and so full of energy. This thing’s changed you. You’re still not yourself.’ Stephanie had her arms folded and Durant knew that meant a conversation. Not a chat. A conversation.

‘I’m fine. Really.’

Stephanie shook her head. ‘You’re keeping things in. I know you.’

Durant shook his head. ‘I’m good. Let’s have tea. I’ll make.’

‘Kevin, perhaps you need to go for counselling or something.’

‘Counselling?’ He flicked the kettle on, perhaps a little too hard.

Stephanie noticed. ‘You’re on the edge. I’m afraid that one day you’re going to snap.’

The cups clanked loudly as Durant took them out the cupboard. ‘I know I’m not myself. I’ve got bits missing inside, and other bits that still hurt when I walk, and I don’t like being in quiet streets at night any more.’

Stephanie put her hand on Durant’s arm. ‘It’s okay to still feel like that. I don’t blame you. That’s why I’ve been thinking . . .’

‘Wait, don’t tell me, let me try to guess.’ Durant paced from one side of the kitchen to the other. The words came out sharply. ‘You want me to try for a medical boarding?’

Stephanie sighed, trying to keep her voice calm. ‘Well, I never even thought of that, I was thinking more we should just get out of this whole mess, take Alexis and go to . . . New Zealand.’

Durant frowned and then poured the hot water into the teapot. ‘I’m going to make it extra strong.’

Stephanie slid a tray out and put it on the counter. ‘At least think about it, Kevin.’

‘Think about what?’

Stephanie remained silent for a moment, then opened a kitchen drawer and slid a pamphlet across the countertop.

‘“Join your family and friends who are already in the land of peace and security – New Zealand – New Beginnings,”’ Durant read. ‘Come on, Stephanie. Are you serious?’

‘There’s a seminar on Thursday night in town. Let’s just go and listen.’ There was desperation in her voice.

Durant sloshed the milk into the cups, clicking his tongue when it overshot the rims. ‘Well, obviously they’re going to convince us how bad South Africa is and how cool New Zealand is. It’s run by people who make money out of moving people there.’

‘I know I don’t talk about it, but I’m scared now. After what happened to you, I’m so scared of losing you.’ Her lip trembled, almost imperceptibly. She took a step towards him, looking for comfort. She put a spoon in the pot and stirred the tea while Durant thought of the right thing to say.

‘I hate being scared,’ she said, still stirring the pot.

Durant smiled and put his hand on hers. ‘I think it’s stirred now. I’m really okay, Steph.’

‘But I’m not.’ The first tear fell and landed on the tray. ‘You nearly died, it was so close – and look at the damage it’s done.’

Durant took the spoon from her and put it in a saucer. ‘We’ll both be fine eventually, love. Emigration’s a major move, I don’t know if I even want to leave this country.’

Stephanie touched a tissue to her cheek. When she spoke, her voice was cold, agitated. ‘We don’t
want
to leave, I don’t
want
to leave either, nobody
wants
to leave, but I think sometimes we
have
to leave to retain our sanity. And for the sake of our child.’

‘Ja, well, don’t you think maybe we have to
stay
for the sake of our child and our sanity. What about your mom?’ Cunningly, Durant had introduced his wild card. He knew Stephanie and her mother were inseparable.

‘We’ll all have to make sacrifices, Kevin.’

‘Come on. She’s getting older. Sometimes she acts a bit strange. She might need care someday.’ Durant thought about how Stephanie’s mom’s health had changed over the past few weeks and how she had gone from her usual, organised self to becoming more and more dependent on them for getting her things done. There were small, subtle changes in her behaviour which bothered him. She would repeat herself a lot. Fuss over small issues, like the location of her glasses. Be more argumentative about people she knew or places she’d been to, insisting she was right.

‘Our future’s not here. Our lives aren’t here any more. What’s keeping us here?’

‘Faith, belief, hope. I don’t know.’ Durant took a sip of tea. It was cold and bitter.

‘Don’t be so idealistic.’ Stephanie tossed the wet cloth into the sink and huffed. ‘Faith, hope and belief nearly got you killed.’

Durant pursed his lips against the cold rim of the cup for a moment and then put it down on the saucer with a clatter. ‘Let’s not talk about this now. Thanks for letting me know how you feel, and I’ll think about it and we can chat about it again. I’m over this conversation now.’

Stephanie put her hands on her hips and scowled. ‘So that means “no” then?’

‘It’s not a yes or no answer. It’s just not “yes” yet. Give me some time. This is big; I need to think it through.’

Durant thought it through for about five seconds before he arrived at the answer. The answer was no. He poured the tea into the sink and watched it go down the drain.

Khalid had spent a mandatory few weeks in Dubai after leaving Kabul. Readjusting to normal life helped soldiers, UN workers, diplomats and security officials adapt more easily to life outside of the warzone. After a while there, it was easy to accept wearing body armour and travelling in a convoy of Humvees when leaving the green zone as the norm, but it was actually a very messed-up place. Landing in a regular city after Kabul without adjustment first can be as traumatic as hearing the explosions and seeing bodies being blown apart in Afghanistan. You’re jumpy, feel vulnerable, feel guilty. You ask yourself how people can live such insulated lives in these bubbles of illusion while hell on earth is happening a few thousand miles away and people are dying. Denial. War is for soldiers and politicians and perhaps journalists. Normal civilians would rather change channels and watch
Desperate Housewives
. Watching
CNN
can lead to paralysis of conscience – witnessing the carnage, the
IEDS
tearing up the marketplaces and streets, demands a reaction because it makes it real to the observer. And the natural reaction is the switchover, because if seeing is believing then not seeing gives a person room to deny it’s real.